


Tie Your Mother Down

by Catja



Series: Kink Memes 2019 [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Dark Bellamy Blake, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Edging, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Violence, The 100 (TV) Kink Meme, Underage Rape/Non-con, Violence, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 20:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18999853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catja/pseuds/Catja
Summary: Abby Griffin is willing to do anything for her next fix, but it's her daughter who pays the price.(Winner, BFWA After Dark 2019 Best Non Con Work in Progress)





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Drug addict Abby offers sex to dealer Bellamy instead of cash. When he gets a look at her daughter he wants her instead. Bonus points if instead of being a street dealer he is a doctor with dubious morals.
> 
> Seriously, please heed the tags and warnings. If anything in the tags is in any way triggering to you, or something you just aren't interested in reading, it's on you to click the back button. That said, if I missed tagging anything, I am incredibly sorry. Please do let me know.
> 
> Title from Queen. Unbetaed.

It’s almost midnight when Bellamy hears the pounding on his front door. He thinks about ignoring it, but odds are, this time of night, it’s important. So few people know he’s still living here in the same shitty apartment he’s been living in since his drugstore cashier days, fuck you student debt. It’s not the kind of place anyone would expect someone like him to still be living twelve years later. His neighbors aren’t exactly the sort to drop by to borrow an egg or a cup of sugar. If they know he’s here, if they’re looking for him this late, maybe it’s someone who really needs him. 

He hopes it’s his sister, but she’d kick down the door before she’d ask to be let in. 

Fine. He turns off the tv and sets aside his drink.

When he opens the door, Abby’s on the other side, looking somehow even more pathetic than she had that morning, clearing out her office. It had been very satisfying to watch, the high and mighty Dr. Griffin, star surgeon at Jaha Memorial, with her picture-perfect life and almost spotless record, brought low by the same addiction she’d scorned others for. 

Never mind that Bellamy had himself helped enable said addiction. 

He lets out a harsh breath, half relief that it’s not a real crisis, half irritation that he has to deal with her now. He doesn’t bother asking her why she’s there. They both know. Bellamy is perfectly willing to watch her squirm, make her wait. 

It’s not like Abby’s even really suffered in life, as so many other addicts have. What, an amicable divorce, one dead patient and a malpractice lawsuit, then giving up custody of her daughter during her ensuing meltdown? His own mother went through much worse, for much longer, without turning to anything stronger than gin. Abby had been handed her entire life on a silver platter and she couldn’t manage to hold on to it. 

“Please, Bellamy,” Abby says, finally. 

Bellamy leans against the doorway, considering her. She looks so small, shrinking in on herself. Nothing like the woman who had strutted down the hospital halls. “No.”

She lets out a sob, desperate and pitiful and practiced. “I don’t know where else to go—”

“Not my problem.”

“I need—”

“No, you don’t.”

Abby turns angry, as suddenly as a flame igniting. Her spine snaps straight and she regains some of her old presence. “I made you what you are now. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”

She’s not wrong. Ten years before, Abby Griffin had seen something promising in him, a lowly pharmacy technician at her hospital, and she’d encouraged him to finish his undergrad. He wouldn't have dreamed of grad school without her support. She’d written him a glowing reference, helped him fill out his Pharm. D. applications and all of those financial aid forms, tutored him when there was enough overlap in her own knowledge. It’s not like his high school dropout mother knew how to do any of that, or how to teach him, or had the energy to try. 

“And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I’ve paid you back,” Bellamy says, calm. No matter how much noise she makes, they both know he has all of the power here. She has nothing he wants, not anymore.

Her light goes out, and she shrinks a little, stepping closer to him and glancing up at him through her lashes. It doesn’t quite have the effect it used to, with the dark circles around her bloodshot eyes, extreme even for someone working in a high-stress environment. 

“You were so good to me,” she says, reaching out one thin hand. He catches it before she can touch him, fingers tight around her wrist. “Don’t you miss it? I do.”

Bellamy’s not sure if that’s a lie or not, but that doesn’t matter: he doesn’t miss her or what they’d had. Ten years ago, five years ago, sure, he’d been content to share her bed, or his, or her office chair, or desk, or the back seat of her car. Back then, Abby was recently divorced, without any time to dedicate to taking care of her own needs, and she kept just enough control of his future to keep him compliant. She’d been attractive, then, beautiful even, and he didn’t care about anything except getting off inside someone else. Even two years ago, it was fine.

Sure, he enjoyed it, but now? Bellamy Blake is thirty-two, in the prime of his life, with a very well paying nine-to-five that leaves him enough time to hit the gym four days a week before work and still have enough energy to maintain a social life after.

Abby moves closer, pressing her hips to his without any of her old subtlety. At least they kept things under wraps, before. Bellamy glances past her, down the row of neighboring apartments. There’s no one to see what they’re up to, this time of night, but Bellamy’s not interested in providing a show for anyone else. Not with her.

He tugs her back in through his open door, shoving her inside so he can lock it behind him. When he turns back to her, she’s got a triumphant glint in her eyes.

Bellamy’s looking forward to making it fade.

“On your knees.”

Abby obeys.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

Her fingers shake as she unbuttons her top, quick as she can with her uncertain hands, letting it fall off her shoulders. She removes her bra, as well, without any prompting. Good. 

Bellamy has no reason to rush. He takes his time unbuckling his belt, draping it over the doorknob in case he wants it later. Abby’s eyes are fixed on his hands, her tongue flicking greedily out from between her parted lips. He’d bet a lot of money that her cunt is dry as bone, though. She just thinks she’s winning.

“Skirt, too,” he says, hand rubbing lazily over his cock through his pants. “I want you bare.”

It only takes her a minute to strip off her skirt and hose. Her ‘packing up my office because my three-month suspension has become indefinite’ outfit had made him laugh earlier, at the hospital, in its overdone professionalism, but now it’s even more ridiculous. Black pencil skirt and blazer, deep red blouse, hair in a messy chignon, too much jewelry, heels too high to be stable. Her panties are just a tiny scrap of lace. Usually, Bellamy loves when women pick out their underwear based around him seeing it. On Abby, it’s tragic. She never had, before, had rarely bothered taking the time getting naked at all, always wanted it hard and fast. 

Once she’s done, Abby sits back on her knees, legs spread just enough for Bellamy to see the unkempt brown tangle of hair, hands clasped behind her back to thrust out her chest. The first time Bellamy saw her, wanted her, they’d been full and heavy, not yet recovered from feeding her daughter. Now, they’ve withered away like the rest of her. 

Bellamy unbuttons his pants and tugs out his cock, still almost completely soft. He grabs Abby’s chin, jerking her mouth forward and feeding her just the head. “You’re going to have to work very hard,” he says. “You aren’t the woman you once were, are you?”

When she presses closer, tries to take more of him, he pulls back. He slaps her cheek, hard, and then again when it doesn’t redden the way he wants. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

Her eyes tighten, but she doesn’t protest, and when he nods, she opens her mouth again, letting his cock rest on her tongue. 

“Better.” 

Bellamy lets down her hair, watching it spill down around her shoulders. His hand tangles in it, pulling harder and harder until tears pool in her eyes. Slowly, he presses deeper, cock slowly hardening in her mouth. 

Suddenly, a phone rings, one of those annoying default tones, from Abby’s forgotten purse a few feet away. Bellamy releases her and goes to grab it, fist loose around his dick.

The caller ID reads ‘Clarke,’ and a picture pops up of a teenage girl in a bikini and sunglasses, breasts spilling out of the top, smiling wide with a clear sky and a calm blue ocean behind her. 

His dick throbs in his hand.

Bellamy lets it go to voicemail, then tilts the phone towards Abby’s face to unlock it. He opens up her photos app, opens the _Clarke_ album. They’re mostly selfies, some with a blond man next to her, sometimes a black boy around her age, with a couple of group shots from her sweet sixteen a few months back. 

“Who was that?” 

He ignores Abby, hand pumping his rapidly hardening dick, and scrolls through the pictures. He forwards a few to himself for future reference.

When it rings again, he passes the phone to back to Abby.

“Shit, it’s my daughter,” she says, as if Bellamy doesn’t know that, as if he didn’t go to her tenth birthday party, a lakeside bash, with the rest of Abby’s harem of protégés, like he hasn’t been hearing Abby brag about little Clarke as long as he’s known her. “Hi, honey, I’m so sorry. I got caught up with work. I know, I know, I promised- yes, I’ll be back soon. Love you.”

For the first time since showing up at his door, Abby looks ashamed. “She doesn’t know about- that I’ve been- Clarke’s just visiting for spring break. She’ll be back with her dad in a few days, she doesn’t need to know-“

Bellamy cuts her off with another smack, this time across her tits, then pulls her upright with one hand tight around her throat. He shoves her down over the back of the couch, face pressed into the cushion. “I don’t even want to look at you.” 

He grabs her thigh, gets one leg bent up onto the couch. Her pussy’s still dry, but that doesn’t matter. He spits into his hand, gets his cock slick enough, then thrusts into her deep as he can without any real lubrication. Abby lets out a pained whimper but doesn’t protest.

Bellamy rocks shallowly against her, not allowing her the relief of pulling out too much. He grabs her hair again, yanking hard, and digs his fingers into her bony ass. His thumb presses against her asshole, the one place she never let him explore no matter how much he begged or what he did, caressing the puckered skin, almost gently, before he thrusts it inside, in rhythm with his cock.

But even Abby's ass isn't worth his time anymore. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says, fucking her harder as she grows wet around him. He’s got no stamina today, not with the image of Clarke burned into his mind. At least he doesn’t care about impressing Abby anymore. “Tomorrow night, you’re going to drop Clarke off to spend the weekend with me. When you pick her up, Monday morning, she’ll bring you what you want. If you want more, _I_ want more.”

“But-”

Bellamy pulls out just in time to spill onto her back. 

“That’s the only offer you’re going to get from me.” He wipes his dick on her ass then tucks himself back into his pants. “Clarke, here, seven p.m.”

Bellamy sits back down on the couch, turns his documentary back on. “Now get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to finish this before posting, but I've been editing this more than writing the rest so here it is. Chapter two will be up in a few hours, and then no guarantee about when you'll get the rest.


	2. Friday

The next day, Bellamy makes sure he’s home from work as quickly as possible. There’s a lot to do, in the next two hours.

He throws in a load of wash, turns on the window A/C unit in his bedroom, leaves the door open to let the chill spread into the kitchen and living room. The bathroom’s a bit of a mess, grungy and cramped, but he doesn’t bother cleaning it. 

The fridge is almost empty, which suits him just fine. One of the lights over the breakfast bar has burnt out, leaving the main room of his apartment lit only by the two remaining bare bulbs and the glow from the tv. The shitty vertical blinds covering his solitary kitchen window, one half missing and the other half bent out of shape, are closed. 

In the bedroom, the blinds are wide open. By the time they get there, it’ll be dark. He lets them be.

Bellamy opens the decorative box his sister bought him last time she bothered visiting, during her last interior design phase. He pulls out some supplies, enough to get them through tonight: a few lengths of rough rope, the corded wand vibrator Echo bought to leave at his place and left after they stopped seeing each other, what’s left of the bondage tape, a couple of pairs of nipple clamps. He deliberates between a couple of plugs, finally settles on the medium one, with a giant, bulbous head. 

The lube he leaves in the box. Everything else is arranged neatly on the left nightstand, in full view of the door. He checks the pair of cameras he has tucked away, one across the room on the dresser, the other on a shelf next to the closet door, and leaves the remote with everything else next to the bed. 

Bellamy jerks himself off, scrolling through the photos of Clarke he’d sent himself, to make sure he’ll have no trouble taking his time later. He eats last night’s leftovers, switches the laundry, takes a dump then a shower. By the time he’s dressed again, in a dark button up shirt over a tight white tee with his most worn and comfortable jeans, it’s a quarter till seven. 

He remakes the bed, sets the paper bag with Abby’s pills on the coffee table, turns off the air conditioning. Then, he settles in his ancient armchair with a book, and he waits.

Ten minutes later, Bellamy hears a soft rap against his front door, and he sighs in relief. He hadn’t doubted that they’d come, not really, but that hadn’t kept him from being on edge the whole day. He feels his cock stirring, already, when he stands, stretches, and goes to peek through the door.

Clarke’s got a backpack and a giant suitcase with her, and she looks so young, standing there hugging herself, brow furrowed as she stares down the door, ignoring her mother completely.

He takes a few deep breaths, mostly to make sure he keeps them waiting long enough, then opens the door. 

Clarke starts, stumbles back a little, and Bellamy catches her around her waist to keep her from tumbling over the side of his front stoop. “Careful, sweetheart,” he says, guiding her through the door, hand low on her back. He grabs her suitcase, then follows her in, shuts the door in Abby’s face. 

Bellamy locks the door, the deadbolt, flips the security guard and fastens the chain, then turns to inspect his prize. 

She’s staring up at him, defiant, covered up by an oversized pink sweater and pale jeans. Bellamy can still see the soft swell of her tits underneath. If keeping her sleeves tugged down over her hands makes her feel safer, well, Bellamy can allow her that. For now.

“Go ahead and take your shoes off,” Bellamy says. Her frown deepens, but she complies, sets them neatly beside his behind the door, and drops her bag next to them. Her socks are mismatched, colorful plaid and dots, the kind Octavia had always wanted but could never afford. “Have a seat.”

She considers the couch for a second then takes his chair, probably so he can’t sit next to her. He stands in front of her, just close enough to make her lift her chin to see him.

“You’ve grown up a bit since I saw you last,” Bellamy says, his tone light and conversational. “Do you remember?”

She shrugs. “Dunno. It’s hard to remember everyone my parents brought around.”

“I think you were twelve, the last time Abby brought you into work with her.” Clarke had been left to her own devices in Abby’s office while they fucked in the on-call room. Abby had taken her out to lunch with his cum on her tits, one thick streak visible over her neckline. “Did she tell you why you’re here?”

Clarke deflates, shrinks in on herself. “No, just that she had something come up this weekend at the hospital and didn’t want me alone. It’s so dumb, she thinks I’m still eleven and I still need a babysitter.”

He rolls his eyes. He’s not surprised. “She lied. She was suspended from the hospital months ago.”

“But-” Clarke says, then pauses, eyes narrowing. “That means- she said she was working late last night, but-”

“She was here.”

“Why?”

Bellamy nods at the paper bag on the coffee table. “Came begging for those.”

Clarke picks it up gingerly and peeks inside, then dumps the contents into her lap. She studies the label for a long moment, then looks back up at him. “But you didn’t give them to her.”

She’s clever, at least. Bellamy hopes she’ll be a fast learner. “No.”

“Why not?”

Bellamy sits down on the coffee table, leans in, rests his hands on her knees, forcing them apart, just enough to make his meaning clear. “You have to pay, first.” 

Bellamy gives her a moment; he’s got plenty of time, she can have a minute to come to terms with the fact that her mother chose drugs over her daughter. 

“I’m going to give you a couple of choices,” Bellamy says. “You can cooperate. If you’re good, I can make sure you enjoy it.” Some of it, anyway.

“Or?”

Bellamy leans closer, cupping her jaw with one hand. She’s so soft and pale, nothing like Abby at all. “Or I tie you to my bed, and make you take it.” She shivers, presses her legs together. “But you should know, either way, I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore, and then I’m going to keep going. I’m going to make you cry.”

To his surprise, Clarke jerks toward him, pressing her mouth to his. When she tries to pull away, point made, he squeezes his hand around her neck and keeps her there, forcing his tongue into her mouth. 

It’s obvious she’s inexperienced, doesn’t know what she’s doing, but he kisses her the way he likes, hard and sloppy, and soon enough, she responds. 

Bellamy shoves her back into the chair once she seems to start enjoying it. “Oh, Clarke,” he says, voice sweet as honey. “Did you think that was really going to stop me? Now, take your sweater off for me.”

Clarke crosses her arms, stares off toward his bookcase. Bellamy sighs. He gives her a few seconds, but after she fails to obey, he grabs the neck of her sweater with both hands and tears it open. It’s fashionably distressed, and rips easily.

“What the hell?”

He shoves the tatters of fabric down over her shoulders, trapping her hands at her sides. She’s still got a gray tank top on, and her plain black bra peeks over the top. A strap falls down one shoulder. “Do I need to take these off too?” he says, running a fingernail along the top edge of her top, scratching the pale skin and watching the white mark trailing behind his finger turn to red. It fades quickly enough, but that’s alright. He’ll be leaving plenty of marks on her. “I have a knife around here somewhere. Probably a scalpel too. I’m no surgeon. My aim isn’t going to be very good.”

Clarke shimmies a little to get her arms out of her sweater. She pulls off the tank top and lets it fall to the floor, then hesitates for a moment. 

“Take it off.”

She reaches one hand behind her back to unhook her bra, eyes steady on his. Carefully, she pulls it off one shoulder then the other, folds it neatly in half and tucks the straps in, keeping it in her lap.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it, Clarke?” 

Bellamy takes her in. There’s a mole under her right breast to match the one over her mouth. Her tits are full and soft, tipped with pale pink nipples, already hardening in the cold air. The hair on her arms is standing up, too. She doesn’t try to cover herself.

Bellamy cups his hand around her, squeezing upward, pinching her nipple hard. She winces, but doesn’t make a sound. He pinches harder until she whimpers. 

She can take more pain than he expected.

“I’m going to fuck you here, later,” he says, digging his fingertips in between her tits. Bellamy flicks at her lips, thin but red, from biting back her words. “I’m going to fuck you here, now.” He forces his thumb into her mouth, presses down on her tongue.

Clarke bites him.

Bellamy strikes her cheek. She’s paler than Abby. It only takes a second for a pink handprint to bloom. 

“Would you like to try that again?”

She keeps her eyes down and fails to respond.

He smacks her again, then a third and fourth time. Her skin darkens from pink to red.

“I asked you a question.”

“No, I won’t,” Clarke says, voice garbled around his thumb.

“Good girl.” He wraps one hand around her throat and pulls until she’s standing in front of him. “Don’t make me ask twice again.” He presses into her windpipe, just hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“I won’t. I’m sorry.”

He lets his eyes run down her body. He could make her take everything else off, see what else he’s bought, but dragging it out will make each piece of clothing feel more precious. He has time.

Bellamy grabs her upper arm and brings her back over by the door, then shoves her down onto her knees. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, snaps a picture of Clarke, right where Abby had been last night. 

“Has anyone else fucked this mouth?”

“No.”

“Good.” Bellamy undoes his belt and jeans, shoves them down just enough for his cock to spring up. He’s been rock hard since Clarke knocked on his door. 

Clarke’s eyes are wide open, taking him in. “I don’t think I can-”

He lets the head bump against her lips, smearing them with precum. “Abby can take it.”

Bellamy shoves the first third or so into her mouth until he hits the back of her throat. He holds there, halfway in, then fucks her mouth, slow, not pulling out too far. 

Clarke’s gone limp, head bowed as much as possible with her mouth full, hugging herself and hiding her tits. Her lips are tight around him.

He presses deeper, just to hear her choke. Her spasming throat feels so good. It’s going to be even better when he’s filling her cunt, and he gets to feel her coming around him.

As soon as Clarke looks up at him, whimpering, eyes wide and desperate and wet, he pulls out, lets her breathe and gasp and cough.

“You’re a fucking terrible cocksucker,” he says. He pets her cheek, all gentleness, runs his thumb along her lips.

“I’ve never done it before.” 

“Abby’s had plenty of practice,” Bellamy says, letting his fingers stroke down her throat. “She can take me here.”

Clarke glares up at him. “Then why don’t you get her to come blow you instead?”

“What do you think she was doing here last night?” When Clarke opens her mouth to respond, Bellamy slides his cock back between her lips and cards his hands through her hair. “Now, are you gonna behave? Or do I need to go tie you up right now and fuck your cunt instead?”

Clarke does her best. She has no idea what to do, but she’s a quick learner and pays attention to Bellamy’s reactions. She starts off with her hands, giving up whatever comfort she’d been able to give herself to make him feel better. It doesn’t take her long to figure out how to use her tongue, or to suck on the head with just the barest hint of teeth to make him thrust deeper and choke back a moan. 

He lets her keep her eyes closed until he feels himself getting close. Clarke’s mouth is warmer than Abby’s, her hands softer, and knowing he’s making her take such a huge dick for her first blow job gives him a rush. 

“Open your eyes for me,” he says, hand tight in her hair to guide her face up. “Now, Clarke.”

As soon as their eyes meet, Bellamy starts fucking her mouth properly, and all Clarke can do is kneel there and take it. Her hands fall to his thighs, nails digging into the denim. Once he feels close, he thrusts as deep as he can, and when her throat opens up around him, he comes, pulsing once or twice before pulling back to fill up her mouth. 

Clarke struggles to swallow it down; the last of it drips down her chin. She wipes it away on the back of her hand. Before she can rub it off on her pants, Bellamy grabs her wrist.

“Don’t waste it,” he warns her. “Abby never does.”

Without any argument, Clarke licks her hand clean, wrinkling her nose at the taste.

“You’ll get used to it, don’t worry.” Bellamy fixes his jeans then lifts Clarke to her feet. She’s shaky from staying in the same uncomfortable position for so long, and she clings to him, her body tucked close under his arm. Pretty little thing. “The bathroom’s through the kitchen,” he says. “You get five minutes, then I want you in the bedroom. If you’re not out by then, I’ll kick in the door and you’ll get a beating.”

Clarke nods into his side, sniffles a bit. After she grabs her toiletry bag from her suitcase, she disappears into the bathroom.

Once she’s gone, Bellamy goes through her things to see if she has anything suitable to wear for him. He grabs a little shift dress, navy blue, a couple more tank tops and thongs. Clarke won’t have any need for the rest of her belongings, so he tucks her luggage away in his closet. 

She doesn’t take too long, probably terrified of running out of time. When she finds him in the kitchen, she looks shy again, arms crossed to shield herself. He preferred the way she’d been a few minutes ago, determined to outperform her mother.

Bellamy idly considers letting them compete more directly but discards the thought. He’s sure Clarke will prove herself a more worthwhile fuck than Abby. 

“After you,” he says. 

Clarke freezes just inside the doorway, and Bellamy shoves her forward. She lands just where he wanted, just where he pictured her when he saw that picture Abby had of Clarke leaning over a friend’s shoulder, shirt falling open to reveal the soft curves of her breasts. The view is even better here and now, her smooth back exposed to him, tits dangling just out of sight.

“Stay there for me.” He snaps a picture. “You know,” Bellamy says, “I’ve been fucking your mom for years, now.” He grabs a couple of her belt loops and yanks her jeans halfway down her ass, revealing plain pink underwear. “And when she’s not around, I don’t think of her at all.” He spanks her, once on each cheek, just to see how sensitive she is. Clarke lets out the softest little mewl. It’s such a pretty sound.

“But you?” He slides his hand under her panties, squeezes her ass hard. “I think I’ll remember you. I’m going to be jerking off to these pictures for years. Maybe I’ll blow up a picture of your tits and hang them on my bedroom wall. Fucking work of art.” 

Bellamy tugs his belt off again, lets it brush against her ass, slow and soft, lifting it away and replacing it, making her wonder when he’s going to hurt her. “I know you’ll never forget me.” He drops the belt next to her, in easy reach. “Move up here, all the way on the bed.” 

Clarke scrambles to obey.

“You haven’t behaved very well for me,” he says, grabbing the remote and setting the cameras to record, “so I’m afraid I’m going to have to restrain you. If only you’d been more cooperative.” Bellamy sighs. He would have tied her up anyway. Can’t risk her trying to fight him. “I’m going to have to punish you.”

While he ties her wrists together, crossed above her head, he continues, “Maybe you’ll hate this, and hate me, and that hatred will fuel everything you do for the rest of your life, whether you want it to or not. You’ll always be trying to prove to yourself that you’re better than this little slut your mommy sold for drugs. No matter how much life fucks you up, at least you know that you’re better than poor, pathetic, addicted Abby.” Bellamy adjusts her hips, gets her knees under her so her ass is raised into the air. He won’t need to tie her legs up just yet, with her jeans halfway down her legs, keeping them just where he wants them.

He reaches for his belt. “Or maybe,” he says, making sure he has a good grip, “you’ll love it. Maybe you’ll need it.” Bellamy tugs her panties down, leaving them just under the curve of her ass. “Maybe you won’t ever be able to come without wishing I was there to hurt you again.” He brings the belt down, hard, a few times in quick succession. “Maybe you’ll be just as broken as your mother.”

Clarke’s eyes are screwed tight, but tears are still streaming onto the quilt beneath her. She presses her mouth against her arm, pressing back any words or sobs. Doesn’t matter. He’ll get some screams out of her, sooner or later.

His hand dips down between her legs, comes away wet. “What a little slut you are. Your cunt is dripping for me.” He lets himself smile since Clarke can’t see him. “I think you’re going to love it.” 

Bellamy gives her another few swats then goes to grab the plug. Already, she’s turning from pink to red. 

He rubs the plug against her, getting it wet, just at the end. It’s too big for her cunt and way too much for her ass. He spreads her legs apart, just the couple of inches that her pants allow, but that’s enough. His finger traces around the tight little rosebud; when she clenches against him, he strikes her thighs. “If you don’t at least try to relax,” he says, “I’m going to have to get a bigger one.”

Clarke shakes her head, but breathes in, slow and shaky, and when she exhales, she manages to release some of her tension. 

Bellamy slides just his pinky into her asshole, deep as he can, savoring her barely-contained protests. She’s so fucking tight. He pauses, just for a minute, then replaces his finger with the plug.

It takes a lot more effort to get in, the fat head too much for anyone to start with, but she takes it eventually. He snaps another picture. 

“This is just going to make everything else feel more intense,” Bellamy says. “Tomorrow, you’ll have to take a bigger one, get you ready for me to fuck you here.” He tugs at the base of the plug, making her squirm. 

“Now, you need the rest of your punishment. Gotta know what’ll happen if you’re bad again.” He pets her cunt, fingers gentle, running the length of her from her clit to the base of the plug. “How many do you think you deserve?”

Clarke speaks without thinking. “I don’t think I deserve any.”

“That’s ten, right there.” Bellamy circles her clit with one fingernail. “I think twenty-five is enough for now. Then, maybe, if you think you can be good for me, I’ll make you come. How does that sound?”

Clarke turns her face away without answering.

“Now it’s thirty.” He gives her the first five on her thighs. “I asked you a question.”

“That sounds good.”

“That sounds good, _daddy_ ,” he corrects her, and she echoes him.

By the time he’s done, Clarke’s a dripping, sobbing mess, barely able to hold herself upright, black and blue from her tailbone down her thighs. Bellamy rubs some lotion into her tender skin, then rolls her over. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it, baby? Now I’m going to make you feel better.”

Bellamy strips off what’s left of her clothes, then sits down on the bed, back against the headboard. He gathers Clarke into his lap and bends her legs so her pussy is bared toward the open window. His room faces an alley, with a blank brick wall ten feet away, and Bellamy has only seen anyone around a handful of times in the last dozen years. The room is dimly lit, anyway, just a low-wattage lamp beside the bed.

She eyes the window, but just buries her face in his chest, curling her bound arms against her wet cheek. It must be excruciating, sitting down, but whatever comfort she’s gleaning from his embrace must outweigh her suffering. Or maybe she’s just accepted the pain.

“There's just one rule this weekend,” Bellamy says, scratching gently at her scalp. “You need permission to come. Now you know what kind of punishment you'll get if you disobey me. I'm sure you can be good.”

Clarke nods. “Yes, daddy.”

He starts off slowly, with featherlight brushes of his fingertips against her thighs, just teasing, even as he can see her little cunt clenching, needing to be filled. He traces her outer labia with two fingers, occasionally reaching down to tap on the end of the plug, just so she can never forget it’s there.

“Tell me,” Bellamy says, watching her eyes flutter shut as he gives her clit just the barest graze, “have you ever made yourself come before? Has anyone else?”

Clarke blushes, still somehow shy even after all of this. “Um, I don’t think so. Daddy.”

Well, if she’s not sure, that’s definitely a no. “Has anyone tried?”

She nods, spreads her legs farther apart and presses closer to Bellamy’s fingers. The more eager Clarke gets, though, the slower his fingers move. “My ex-boyfriend tried, but he didn’t- I wasn’t this wet. So it wasn’t very good. I made him stop.”

Bellamy cups her pussy, lets her grind up against him, watches her tits swaying while she chases after her pleasure. “You wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Clarke looks up at him, shrugs. “He didn’t care. As long as I still jerked him off.”

As soon as her movements grow more frantic, Bellamy slaps her cunt, three times in quick succession. Clarke lets out a long whine.

“You aren’t allowed to come yet.” 

Over and over and over again Bellamy teases her, petting her and caressing her and letting her get so, so close before he backs off, dropping her back all the way down. When, eventually, she starts crying, frustrated from being denied her orgasm a dozen times or more, he reaches into the toy box for a vibrator.

It’s soft, not too big, just the perfect size to nestle against her cunt. Once he’s sure it’s just where he wants it, Bellamy lays her back on the bed, leaning over her to finally get his mouth on her tits.

He leaves the toy on the lowest setting, and whenever Clarke seems to be getting close, he bites her, hard enough to distract from her pleasure. Clarke bends her legs, half to keep her sore ass and thighs off the blanket, half to keep the vibrator in place, pressing as close as she can manage without being able to adjust it herself.

Bellamy lets her. She’s so responsive, so vocal, there’s no way she’d be able to get anywhere near an orgasm without him being able to stop her in time. Her tits are as near to perfect as Bellamy has ever seen, and he allows himself the chance to enjoy them.

She’s so small beneath him, legs tucked up, bound wrists against her stomach, soft and pale, the opposite of Bellamy himself. He sets himself to turning her breasts red, methodically marking her. Once he’s done with her breasts, he moves to her neck, then down her belly, then her thighs.

After that, he rolls her over, lets her grind down on the vibrator, and sets about marking her shoulders, her back, whatever parts of her thighs haven’t already been bruised.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs into her hair, once he’s satisfied. It will take a week or more for the marks to fade. He might need to leave some scars. “You’ve been very patient.” Bellamy turns her onto her side, laying down behind her, bending one leg over his to spread her open. “You need this so badly, don’t you.”

Clarke nods, sniffing. She’s run out of tears, for now, and her voice is almost gone. Probably, he should get her some water or something.

He presses the vibrator hard against her clit and turns it all the way up.

Clarke jerks against him, letting out a low groan. “Please, please,” she begs, hands clutching at him. “I need it, please.”

Bellamy can feel her straining against him, every part of her desperate for release.

He pulls the vibrator away from her cunt, sets it against the plug.

She screams.

Bellamy turns the vibrator off and tosses it aside.

Clarke sobs, pleading. “No, please, let me- I’ve been-” She tries to get her hands on her pussy, tries to press her legs together for some relief, but Bellamy doesn’t let her. He stands, stretches, then sets about restraining her.

He reaches under the bed for the straps he’s kept there since he was training Gina. Her legs are bound to opposite corners of the bed, and her wrists, still bound, are tied to the headboard, over her head. Bellamy snaps another picture. Clarke looks perfect like this, spread open for him, a wet spot already spreading beneath her, head turned away from him, hiding her face against her arm. She’s covered in bruises, bite marks, sweat, and tears.

Bellamy leans over the bed, between her legs. “You’ve done very well, Clarke,” he says, then sets about licking her clean. She’s soaked, dripping down to her knees.

This must be agony for her. He can see her clit, dark red and swollen, throbbing at every stroke of his tongue. 

She’s delicious. Bellamy doesn’t allow himself to enjoy her taste for too long, but he’s going to do this again, though not until tomorrow, probably. He’s looking forward to it. For now, he restricts himself to licking away as much of her arousal as he can. It’s difficult, not to fuck into her with his tongue, but he wants his dick to be the first part of him inside her pussy.

He stops himself before Clarke can get going too much again.

Bellamy pulls away, reluctant, double checks her restraints then walks away.

He grabs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and walks out his front door, locking it as loudly as he can behind him. Not that there’s any chance of Clarke getting as far as the door. It’s still satisfying, imagining her little shiver of fear when she hears him leave. For all she knows, he’s not coming back tonight. She must be terrified, unsure whether she wants him back or not, whether it would be better to be alone.

He leans against the railing on his sad little stoop and lights up, flicking through his phone, saving all the pictures he’s taken or stolen of Clarke to their own album. He doesn’t bother hiding them. 

It’s still cold out, but the snow has finally melted, at least. Bellamy can probably manage to stay outside for half an hour or more. He should have grabbed his coat, given Clarke an extra hour to wait. Or maybe he’ll just go to the bar down the street to keep warm, find some other girl to play with, come back smelling of whiskey and someone else’s cunt, make her lick him clean.

Bellamy discards the thought. He doesn’t want to waste himself on anyone else tonight. Clarke deserves his best.

Three cigarettes later, once his dick has finally gone down, he strolls down the empty alley, leans against the building next door. His bedroom is bright enough that he can see Clarke, curled into herself as much as she can be, head turned toward him, hidden in the crook of her raised arm, hips angled to keep her sore back and ass off of the rough sheets. 

Bellamy kicks a bit of gravel. She’ll be able to hear him, see the flash of his lighter and the burning ember, but it won’t be enough for her to recognize him.

He watches Clarke turn away from the window, twisting herself up in an attempt to hide what she can. Her shoulders shake with sobs. He should have left the window open so he could hear her. Well, he’ll have the recording, anyway.

Bellamy messes around on his phone for a few minutes, then takes two pictures through the window: the first without flash, and the second with. 

Neither of them turns out particularly well, but that’s fine. He knows he’s a shit photographer. That wasn’t the point.

Bellamy stays outside as long as he can stand to, another ten minutes or so, watching Clarke cry, then makes his way back inside. He grabs a bottle of red wine from the cabinet, something cheap and too dry, and a single stemless glass. After he gets it open, he gulps down half the bottle, then fills the glass with whatever’s left, almost up to the brim.

He walks back into the bedroom and sets the wine on the nightstand, then strips. It would be better to have Clarke watching— Bellamy looks good and he knows it, and Clarke could probably use something nice to look at right now— but she can pretend a little longer. 

Bellamy sits on the bed beside her, presses a cool, soothing hand to her cheek, thumbing at the wet tracks running down into her hair. She looks up at him, finally, eyes dropping just for a moment down his chest before they meet his.

“You-” she starts, then coughs a little. “You came back,” she says, relieved, and then, frantic, “That was you outside, right?”

Bellamy lets the question sit for a moment, makes himself wait, then nods. Clarke sighs in relief, eyes falling shut again. “Poor baby. Were you scared?” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.”

Bellamy unties Clarke’s hands and helps her sit up. Her movements are awkward, legs still spread and bound. She leans against him, sighing in relief as she stretches her arms out, rolls her shoulders, then hugs herself. He lets her hide her pretty tits, for the moment.

“Thirsty, baby?” Bellamy asks, nuzzling her hair a little. She should be wary of him, she should know he’s not safe, but she’s too overwhelmed to reject the comfort of a warm body next to hers. It’s only been a few hours. By this time Sunday night, maybe even sooner, Clarke Griffin will be his entirely, whether she wants to be or not.

Clarke sighs and nods, but screws up her nose when he offers her the wine. “Can’t I just have water?” she says, voice low and rough.

“This now, and then some water after I’ve fucked you, or nothing until morning.” 

Clarke drinks the wine, coughing a little at the taste, but finishes it quickly enough. He rubs his hand over her back, takes the glass back once she’s emptied it. He didn’t tell her to drink it all. He’s pleased she did. As a reward, he unbinds her legs, lets her shake them out. He won’t need her restrained again until they sleep, as long as she behaves herself. 

“Did you miss me?” Bellamy asks, pressing her back onto the bed and rolling half onto her. She’s cold under him, and when he reaches his hand between her legs, he finds her almost dry. Good.

Clarke whimpers, sensitive from earlier, but presses eagerly up against his hand all the same. Her cheeks are already flushing from the wine, the last of her inhibitions fading away with her renewed desperation. “I didn’t know when you were coming back. Daddy,” she adds, pouting up at him. 

Bellamy can’t help but bite at her little mouth, then press a kiss to her lips. He gets distracted, licking away the taste of the wine, letting his hands run all over her soft body, swallowing her pained little gasps when he hits a spot that hurts. Her cheeks are still wet with tears; Bellamy licks them away.

He presses his thigh between her legs and watches her grind up against him. Her tits are bouncing, so pretty even when she’s flat on her back. He can only imagine how they’ll look when he makes her ride him. Bellamy’s going to make her do all sorts of things for him, now that he’s worn her down. He bends one of her legs up, twists the plug inside her, makes her squirm and gasp. She’ll learn to love his cock there, too, and wherever else he wants to put it.

“What a little slut you are for me.”

She shakes her head, but makes no move away from him, just tries to reach down to play with herself. “You’re making me, it’s not my fault.”

“No, honey,” Bellamy says, wrapping her fingers around his dick and showing her just how to get him hard again. “It’s your mother’s fault.” 

As soon as he’s hard enough, Bellamy gets on top of her, rubs against her cunt a few times. She’s not really wet, not yet, not like she’d been earlier, soaked after an hour of stimulation, but that just means she’s tighter.

For all of her eagerness just a minute ago, Clarke almost screams when he thrusts hard inside her, deep as he can. “Please,” she begs, shoving ineffectively against his chest. “Please, it hurts.”

“Good,” Bellamy says. She feels even better than he expected her to, and he’d known her cunt would be as close to perfect as he’d ever felt. He’s fucked a few virgins before, but Clarke’s the only one who’s sixteen. It only takes a few seconds for the desperate little slut to be wet enough for him to start fucking her properly. If Bellamy’s lucky, some of that wetness is blood. “It’s supposed to hurt.”

Bellamy is rough and relentless, ignoring her soft sobs and gasps. She moans when he bends her legs up, changing the angle, and somehow, unbelievably, she comes on his cock, fingers gripping his arms, almost tight enough to bruise. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says, over and over, but her pussy is clenching around him. 

Bellamy fucks her through her orgasm, slow and gentle, making it good for her, but as soon as she stills, he tangles his hand in her hair, pulls tight.

“I don’t think you are sorry,” Bellamy says, voice low. She’s properly wet now. It’s easier to pound into her. “That felt too good for you to be sorry, baby, didn’t it.”

“No, I’m sorry, Daddy, I won’t do it again.” But Bellamy finds another good angle, figures out how to tilt her hips just right, and he makes her come again and again before he finally does, filling her up, pulling out to let the last few drops fall onto her pussy.

He falls to the bed beside her, feeling drained entirely. “You’ve been very disobedient, Clarke,” he says, once he’s caught his breath.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, curling onto her side, looking up at him through long golden lashes. “You made me feel too good.”

He strokes her hair, tugs it to hear her moan. “I know, honey. But I’m still gonna have to punish you.” 

Clarke nods, moves to get back on her hands and knees, but Bellamy stops her. He looks her over, admires all of the marks he’s covered her with: the fingertip bruises on her hips and arms, marks from her spanking across her ass and thighs, bite marks everywhere. She’s barely stopped crying all night. Bellamy grabs his phone off the nightstand, takes a picture of her. She’s his masterpiece.

“No, not now, sweetheart,” he says. “You need your rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. You’ll get your punishment soon enough. But you need to clean me up, now. You’ve made a mess.” Clarke reaches for the box of tissues on the nightstand, but he shakes his head. “No, baby, with your mouth.”

She looks down at his cock, streaked red and white. “But-”

“Now, Clarke.”

She grimaces, but obeys, kneeling over him, licking up every trace. Bellamy’s too worn out and sensitive now to do much more than twitch. 

Once she’s done, Bellamy gets up to use the bathroom and throw on a pair of boxers, then brings back a damp cloth and a glass of water. He cleans between her legs, too rough just to see her cringe, but she doesn’t protest. She gulps down the water, hugging the empty cup to her chest. “Do I need to tie you up, or will you behave?” Bellamy says, but he doesn’t wait for her to reply. “No, I think I’d better.” He sets the cup on the nightstand, ties her wrists back together, then to the headboard on the side closest to the window. She can deal with the wet spot. It’s her fault anyway. “You haven’t been very obedient.” He shuts the blinds, if only to keep out the morning light, then crawls under the quilt, tugging it over both of them.

Bellamy curls around her, one hand low on her stomach, enjoying the feel of her soft young body against him. He’s not going to give her the chance to forget where she is, but if she’s this disobedient tomorrow, he’ll make her sleep on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, eyes already falling shut. Poor baby is exhausted. “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to try to finish this before the July round, but no promises.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to be friends after reading this, come find me [on tumblr](http://www.catja.tumblr.com).


End file.
